…in the second act—where the White Swan must leap with ethereal grace across the stage—Chantelle fell. It was not a mere stumble. It was a collapse of stars. Gasps rippled through the velvet-draped theater as she lay motionless, her world fading under golden lights and horrified whispers. When she awoke, she was not in Paris. The velvet curtains were gone, replaced by an endless sky stained with two moons and towers of white stone. She was in another world, one that smelled of jasmine and danger, where magic ran through rivers and royalty held secrets deeper than oceans. Her body was the same, but the heartbeat in her chest echoed with something more—like the rhythm of a world that didn’t belong to her. Here, she was no longer Chantelle Dupont the ballerina. She was Chantelle Dupont, a noble daughter in the strange and beautiful kingdom of Veylencia. And fate, it seemed, had choreographed a new performance—one that would entwine her destiny with that of a lonely prince, a dying princess, and a world teetering on the edge of ruin. But Chantelle had never backed down from a stage. And this? This was her greatest act yet.
Ballet of The Otherworld Comments